


Driving Anywhere (Knowing That You're There)

by thesaddestboner



Series: now's the right time for a good song [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Detroit Red Wings, Drinking, Gen, Male Friendship, Not Beta Read, Pining, San Jose Sharks, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stuie’s texts start dwindling the closer they get to the date of the <b><em>Game</em></b> (yes, capital letters, italics, circled in red marker on Nik’s calendar since the NHL released the schedules).</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driving Anywhere (Knowing That You're There)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orpikjam44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpikjam44/gifts).



> There's actually only a small amount of pining.
> 
> [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/orpikjam44/profile)[ **orpikjam44**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/orpikjam44/) prompted me to write “something about Kronner and Brad Stuart. Plz. I will cry. Like them getting to see each other again. Or anything. It’s 2AM and I’m running on fumes here.” 
> 
> Title from “Night Drive,” by Gotye.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Stuie’s texts start dwindling the closer they get to the date of the _Game_ (yes, capital letters, italics, circled in red marker on Nik’s calendar since the NHL released the schedules).

He tries not to let it bother him because Stuie had done the same thing last year, leading up to their Conference Semis rematch.

Stuie insisted there were no hard feelings or anything, but Nik still felt a little bit slighted. Stuie was his best friend in Detroit, but now that he had left, it kind of felt like maybe the friendship was more one-sided than Nik had originally thought.

He’s pretty sure he’s being irrational, but no matter. He can’t worry about perceived slights, not when there’s game in a matter of hours. Even if it _is_ against his old best friend, one of the guys Nik credited in helping him hone and sharpen his game.

It’s a pretty good game, actually. They ride the swells of the enthusiastic home crowd to victory, and Datsyuk and Zetterberg each collect three-point games, while Jimmy stops almost every shot he sees.

Nik feels invisible on the ice that night, though. The fans don’t chant his name or scream every time he steps on the ice, and he somehow managed a -1 in a game in which the team scored four. He still feels unsettled, distracted.

After the game, after he answers questions and then escapes to the showers to scrub the game off of his body, he returns to his cell phone vibrating in his locker stall. Nik picks it up and slides his thumb across the screen. It’s a message from Stuie.

**lets go for beers?? miss u!!**

Nik tucks the phone away in his locker and quickly dresses, avoiding the raised eyebrows of Ericsson, his partner.

“You meeting up with a girl?” Ericsson asks, his tone light and teasing.

“I’m meeting up with Stuie,” Nik says, having the sense to be affronted.

Ericsson snorts out a laugh. “Oh, I should have known. Tell him I say hi.” He smirks.

Nik ignores Ericsson’s overly gooey, skin-crawling tone. “I will.”

He grabs his phone and leaves.

*

Nik’s about four, five beers in when he starts feeling drowsy, though not quite tired. Everything slows down to a crawl around him, even Stuie, the music in the bar, the chattering around them. Stuie is telling Nik about his kids, how they’re doing in school, and Nik has to lean forward and listen very hard, half-empty bottle of beer clutched in both hands like a microphone.

Stuie’s hair is wet and his bangs are slicked to his forehead. They look like wet black feathers. _Inappropriate,_ Nik thinks, _for a shark. He should have sleek gray scales, or whatever it is sharks have._

“—and Cierra’s already looking at colleges. Makes me feel so old,” Stuie says, laughing.

Nik remembers he should probably say something now, but the messages are taking an awful long while to get from his brain to his mouth. “Congratulations,” he says, lifting his bottle to Stuie’s and tapping it. “My condolences.”

Stuie laughs and taps back. “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a big thing,” Nik says, nodding. “You should be proud. Your kids are growing up and doing things.”

“That’s all I want as a parent. For my kids to grow up and do things,” Stuie says, sounding fond.

Nik grins and sips from his bottle. “If I have kids, I hope they grow up and do things too.”

“I want that for you,” Stuie agrees. He waves his hand in the air and the bartender materializes in front of them, as if out of thin air, a wet rag clasped in her hands. “Can you put this all on my tab?”

“No, no!” Nik raises his hands, hard enough that foamy amber beers sploshes out of his bottle. “You’re the guest of honor. I’ll pay.”

Stuie ignores him and hands over his credit card. “I haven’t seen you in almost half a year. I’m paying.”

“Well.” Nik shrugs. “I can’t turn down free drinks.”

“That’s more like it.” Stuie grins at him in approval.

They fall back into an easy, companionable silence, and Nik allows his mind to wander, traipse along all the thoughts currently knotted up in his brain. “Do you ever miss it,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Stuie looks at him, a crease forming between his eyebrows, puzzled. “Miss what?”

“It. Here. Detroit,” Nik says, gesturing vaguely with his bottle. “Me. Us. Things.”

The line between Stuie’s brows deepens. “You think I didn’t want to stay?”

“I know why you did, I know you had to leave,” Nik says. “But, I mean... We had some good years in Detroit, you and I. Do you ever miss it?”

Stuie looks down at the counter top and examines it intently. Finally, he looks back at Nik. “You know I would’ve stayed if it was just about hockey,” he says.

“I know,” Nik says, feeling silly now, face burning with shame. _Way to sound like a spurned girlfriend_. He berates himself mercilessly.

“And I do sometimes,” Stuie says. “But I think it worked out for the best.”

Nik mulls over that, turns that over in his brain. “I suppose,” he agrees, though somewhat reluctantly. He does like partnering with Ericsson. Ericsson’s big and physical, reliable in his own end.

Stuie takes a long pull from his bottle and licks at his bottom lip. “There’s really no point in wondering anyway, you know? Maybe I could’ve stuck it out another year or two. I probably could’ve. I probably could’ve been happy here.” He pauses, trails off as he loses his train of thought.

“Yeah,” Nik agrees. “You could’ve...” He also loses his train of thought in the steady stream of beer that’s surely flowing through his body now. “I—I think you would have.” 

This seems like the right thing to say.

Stuie looks down again, though. Well, maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say after all. He grows quiet for a bit, so Nik sips at his beer and tries to reel in his wandering thoughts again. “You want another?” Stuie asks, tapping Nik’s bottle with his own again.

“I think I’ve lost count,” Nik admits. “I should probably stop.”

He’ll have to call a taxi now. Or maybe look in the Yellow Pages for a designated driver service. He can have one of the team employees pick up his car in the morning and drive it back to the Joe for him.

“You have a ride back?” Stuie asks.

“I drove here. I might as well hang out here and sober up. Or call a taxi,” Nik muses, draining the last of his beer from his bottle.

“I can drive you back after I sober up a little,” Stuie says. “I didn’t have that much to drink.”

“You’ll miss curfew.” Nik lines up his empties next to Stuie’s lone bottle on the bar.

“I’m a vet.” Stuie shrugs at him as if to say _so what, who cares_?

Nik doesn’t need much more convincing. “Okay.” He flags down the bartender and orders two glasses of ice water for them both.

*

Stuie pulls into Nik’s driveway and kills the engine. The moon hangs in the sky overhead like a big white pancake, or maybe a scoop of ice cream. But when Nik squints up at it, narrows his eyes, it looks less like a scoop of ice cream or a pancake and more... flawed, craggy. He can almost make out a cratered face.

“We’re here,” Stuie says unnecessarily.

Nik looks over at him. “I know. Thanks.”

Stuie smiles at him and Nik feels himself smile back, although he’s still drunk enough that it feels like he’s watching someone else, some other Niklas Kronwall, do it. Suddenly, his mind bubbles over with a bunch of jumbled words, mostly in Swedish, that urge his beer-logged brain to translate painstakingly into English so he can spew them at Stuie. He opens his mouth to do just that, but nothing comes out, so he shuts his mouth.

Stuie flicks his gaze away, out the windshield, left hand drifting to the car door. “I guess this is it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nik says, but he doesn’t move to get out of the car just yet. He tips his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes, swears he can feel the beer sloshing around in his brain. 

Stuie is quiet for a little bit before saying, “You’re gonna have to get out of my car at some point.”

“I know,” Nik agrees. He doesn’t move, not yet. There are pockets of clarity amidst all the fuzzy-headedness, like beams of bright light cutting through dense fog. He imagines them shining on the knotty thoughts in his brain, illuminating them.

Something seizes hold of Nik just then, and he leans over, grabbing Stuie in a big, awkward, one-armed hug. 

Stuie laughs and pats Nik on the chest, a solid thump in the center of the chest. “Forgot you’re such a sentimental drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk anymore,” Nik insists, though this may or may not be entirely true. He finally disengages from Stuie and pulls back, slipping his arm away. “Maybe just a little bit.” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together.

“Alright, go on. Get out of here. I gotta get back to the hotel,” Stuie says, smiling as he reaches over and gives Nik a friendly squeeze on the knee.

Nik lets himself out and steps back, waving stupidly as Stuie starts his engine up and backs out of the driveway. Stuie waves back, still smiling, and peels away.

Nik shambles up the driveway for his house, warm and happy even as the cool night air whips at his face and tangles in his hair. When he lets himself into the house, the dog is waiting at the door for him, nails clicking on the tile, entire back end nearly vibrating off the floor her tail is wagging so hard.

When Nik falls into bed a little while later, heavy with exhaustion and beer, the warmth still lingers and he lets it pull him under.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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